


Dragon Princess

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Books, Disabled Character, F/M, Library, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 05:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17481995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: You don’t let anybody in easily. Steve doesn’t mind a challenge. Hopefully he also doesn’t mind getting his armor singed in the process.





	Dragon Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Special Disclaimer: Reader is in a (manual) wheelchair for an undisclosed disability. I don’t use a wheelchair myself, I just go behind one, so if anything I said is offensive then message me and I’ll try to edit it. I did my best but unconscious bias is a bitch and trips up even the best of us.
> 
> A/N: I love. Writing grumpy characters. Who are secretly soft. Can’t stop won’t stop. Anywho; this didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted but I quite like certain parts of it, and I’ll never not love writing troll-Steve, especially with cranky reader-characters. It’s just fun.

 

It has been a long day and you just want to go home. So it’s with no small amount of delight that you tear down the open space between bookshelves and tables and make a spectacular turn down the aisle you need– only to come to a complete and sudden stop.

 _That_ guy.

It’s a little harsh, but he’s standing _right_ in front of the shelf you need. Captain America is a regular around here; so much a fixture that you can pinpoint the newbies and the visitors by how long they stare at him. Right now you stare a little too because, hey, you actually haven’t really interacted with him– it’s not like you have the time normally, but your co-workers won't shut up about how wonderful and nice the guy is. Nice, maybe. Easy on the eyes, certainly.

But not nicer than your bed and definitely not easier to look at than the inside of your eyelids.

You roll up next to him and find the spot where the book goes. Blocked by his thigh, of _course_. Grayson owes you big time for this ‘real quick favor.’

You clear your throat and steel yourself. “Excuse me.”

Captain Rogers blinks and looks down at you. Like he can’t fathom what you're doing here. You realize he’s zoned out just as a spark of life returns to his eyes. “Oh, um, can I help you with something?” he says. He then scans the upper shelves and looks down at you, meaningfully.

You sigh but temper yourself. “No, I know exactly where this goes.” You give him your brightest smile and hit the epic tome against your other hand. “On the shelf right above your kneecaps. Both of which happen to be at the _perfect_ level.”

He jumps back and you’re able to slip the book right into its spot. He actually looks pretty amused. Since he’s a good sport about being threatened with a hardcover edition of “The Tale of Genji” (which might have to be registered with the state of New York as a deadly weapon, you’re not sure,) _and_ since you’re only a week away from beating your record for number of days gone without a complaint, you sit back and say, “Since I’m here, is there anything _I_ can help _you_ with?”

“No ma’am, I’m just browsing. Thank you,” he says and goes back to staring at lettered spines, leaving you free to escape work for the day.

That went pretty well, all things considered.

 

* * *

 

It’s another long day when you come across Captain Rogers again. (Mr. Rogers? Captain America? Whatever.) You’re cleaning up the tables and he’s sitting at one, quietly reading. He’s got a small stack of nonfiction, the titles of which are all so boring that your eyes glaze right over them. As you get closer he raises his head and smiles at you. You’re not sure what your face does, but his lips twitch up against his best efforts and he looks caught between laughing and being concerned. “Sorry, did I do something…?”

“Other than be a nice guy to exactly the wrong person? No, you’re…fine. I guess,” you say. “If you want a smile you’ll have to go to the front desk; I’m the only one in this area.”

He laughs, which isn’t a half-bad sound. You roll your eyes and gesture at his stockpile of Boring Nonsense. “You done with any of those?”

“Yes,” he says and immediately puts two of them next to you. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you say, grab them, and leave him be.

For a while. He’s still working on something that makes him scowl like he’s going to start fighting it when you come back over and drop a book right next to him hard enough to make him jolt. You smile. It’s the little things, sometimes. You pat the cover. “This is my favorite piece of trash. It has dragons and swords and is basically the book version of the most terrible-wonderful fantasy movie you can imagine. Give your brain a break before it goes on strike.”

His smile broadens, and he pushes the other, actual trash away so he can put your beloved trash in its place. “Enjoy, Captain,” you say and start to turn.

“Steve,” he says as if instinctive. But then he looks at you. “If you don’t mind.”

You shrug, but since you’re trying to be polite you tell him your name before leaving him to read in peace.

 

* * *

 

“Can I ask you a question?”

That’s as good as a loaded gun, as far as you're concerned, but you’re in a marginally good mood today so you face Steve with as much patience as you can hold at any one time. “Yes?”

He frowns. “Do you…” He sighs. “This is so random, but do you have any recommendations for books on food?”

That’s…not what you expected. “Huh,” you say as you actually have to think through the card catalogue of your mind. “I guess, but I think I should ask Grayson about–” Steve’s face does something terrible that is also _delightful_. “You already asked him.”

“He has to be joking,” Steve says desperately.

You crack a smile, already aware of the sorts of things your more exuberant and… _adventurous_ coworker likely said. “Some, yeah, but probably not all.” You think you know what Steve’s aiming for. “Hold that thought.”

“If it’s too much trouble you don’t have to–”

You shush him– this _is_ a library after all– and continue on your mission. You have to wave off one of the volunteers at one point but you manage to retrieve the book you’re looking for. When you return, Steve is focused on his book again– the poor, trusting _fool_. Nobody else is around, so you take great pleasure in making it slam _right_ next to him. This book being bigger makes a louder sound than the last– he jumps, you laugh, and the day has gone from good to great.

“You like making me jump,” he accuses, poorly hiding a smile.

“My coworkers say I’m a sadist. Too bad for them I’m good at my job.” You flip open the book you brought him. “Ta da. The modern white American cooking bible. Enjoy.”

Steve is immediately fascinated, leaning over and flipping through. “Betty Crocker is still a thing?”

“Oh yeah,” you say. “Still in grocery stores and the books get revised all the time.”

“Wow.” He smiles at you. “Thanks.”

You wave him off. Just as you’re about to go, though, you think of another possible concern. “By the way, Grayson talks a big game but he’s not serious. I mean, if he were single, yeah, but he’s got a wife and kids he loves more than anything. His flirting is all in good fun.”

Steve nods like it doesn’t bother him, but stops mid-motion. “What about Alex and Martha?”

You snort. “Good luck.”

He rolls his eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

You smile sweetly at him. “Always here to help.”

 

* * *

 

“Ooo,” Alex says under their breath and straightens their shirt.

You’re too annoyed to ask what they see. You find out anyways when Steve strolls up to the counter and says hello to Alex and then _pointedly_ does the same to you, smiling like he’s gotten the best news of his life.

It’s fucking irritating and you wave him off like the obnoxious fly he is. Like the obnoxious fly he is, he remains. You give him a dirty look. “ _Away_ with you and your _happiness_.”

Steve laughs, showing his true colors for all to see. He leans on the counter closest to you. “That kind of day already, huh?”

You turn in the stool to properly glare at him. “I have _great_ arm strength and three complete editions of “The Lord of the Rings” as well as the rest of our Tolkien collection. Do you want to find out how many copies of “The Silmarillion” are needed to take you out?”

Steve is unaffected. This is what you get for being nice– burning irritation and the blood of Captain America soon to be on your hands. Not to mention how _all_ of your coworkers are probably going to give you the cold shoulder. Or worse– make you man the information desk.

You shudder. No, even Steve’s stupid fat head getting clocked by elven moping isn’t worth _that_.

“No,” he decides, smiling bigger as he watches you. “But I’ve been meaning to read “The Children of Húrin” if you happen to have it.”

You grab the book and… _hand_ it to him, because you aren’t really a monster who would harm an innocent book just because someone else was irritating you.

Steve _beams_ , the bastard. “Thanks!”

“Ugh, your sunshine _hurts_. Go away you fucking sadist.”

“We have that in common then,” Steve says and honest-to-god _winks_ before strolling away to his area in the back. He’s so fucking jaunty that if he wasn’t in a library you’re pretty sure he’d be whistling.

“Nerd!” is your parting shot before you turn back to the task at hand. Alex, however, is gawking. Fucking great. “ _What_?”

“‘Your sunshine?’” Alex points at you. “You were _flirting_!”

This might be the day you murder someone. And not a patron– that’s unexpected. “I was _not_!”

“And _he was too oh my god_.”

Blood rushes to your head. “Is this really how you want to go out? I made three 16 year old boys cry because they drew dicks in our books, my blood is pumping, I could fight a bear, _don’t test me_.”

Alex runs. To gossip; you’re not fooled. You shake your head. The problem with threatening people all the time is that eventually they find out you’re not _actually_ violent. Not that those teenage brats know better, thankfully.

On that note, you do hope Steve enjoys their artistic interpretations of his text.

 

* * *

 

It’s too late to be irritated by the morning and too early to be irritated by the rest of the day, so you’re at the front desk, doing busywork to while away the slow mid-morning.

“Hi.”

You lift your head. “Do you live here now?”

“I wish,” Steve says. Your boss, William, is off to the side with Martha, and Steve politely greets them before focusing on you. He puts two books on the counter. “I wanted to return these.”

“Book drop is right over there,” you say.

“And deprive you of something to complain about? I would never,” he says.

Martha _snorts_. You magnanimously ignore her. It _was_ pretty good, and you notice the first book you gave him sits on top. “How’d you like it?”

“It was fun.” Steve brings out a piece of paper. “I wrote down the author’s other work if you want to take a look?”

You take the list and give it a look-see before going at it with a pen. Some of the titles get stars, some get a ‘meh’, some get crossed out, and some of them get Sharpied out of existence.

“Do you need help?” you ask as you hand it back.

“No; I’ll just browse,” he says and holds it up. “Thanks,” he says, nods at the two useless observers, and goes on his way.

You open the first book to check it in and see a piece of paper folded in half. “Hey, you–” But Steve is gone. “Jeeze; even his bookmarks are dumb and big.”

You unfold it though and it’s– it’s a drawing. A really nice ink drawing of a snake-bodied dragon, fierce and blowing fire but…coiled at the bottom to sit on a throne of books that floats above the ground. Next to the picture is calligraphy that reads, _‘Thank you for always helping me.’_

William and Martha crowd in, so you put the picture on the counter to let them see. You don’t look away from it but you can hear them admire it (as they should).

“Is…is he calling you a dragon?” William asks warily.

“This…” You breathe. “…Is the nicest thing ever.”

Martha and William scuttle off to gossip like the tweens they secretly are. You appreciate the drawing for a little while longer before you carefully fold it back up and slip it in your notebook under the counter.

God damn. He _is_ flirting.

And god damn, you’re _into it_.

 

* * *

 

If you’re being honest, you’re not really that rude to strangers. Not most of the time, anyway. You know some who might argue that, but you love reading and books and stories and libraries and you want other people to love them too.

Some people, though, are _hopeless_.

“Here?”

“Next shelf over,” you say. “Left–” The guy moves his hand down and you sigh. “To the left, sir.”

He moves his hand, _somehow_ , just over the book. “Yes! Th–” aaaaand he passes right by it.

Short of magically teleporting the book out of its spot and into his face, you're not sure what else you can do.

“Why can’t you just get it for me?” he whines.

You’ve had people practically strain their necks in effort not to look at the chair, but this is ridiculous. You rub your temples to ease the stupid. Someone is hovering in the aisle on the opposite side of where you’re trying to direct this disaster of a puppet show. Hopefully whoever is waiting has more patience than you. “I’m sorry sir but I don’t know how to be any clearer about it; you’ve literally passed over it–” Wait a minute. “Twice…” _Wait a minute_.

His mouth hints at a smirk even as he tries to look annoyed. _Really_? _This_ is how he wants to harass you? This is weaksauce. He could have gone to Martha and done the same thing, she’s so short.

You smile politely. With fangs. “Sir, given our interaction here, I have to say I don’t think that book is right for you. The library has a great children’s section; I could show you the books for new readers. They’re well suited to your reading comprehension _and_ your maturity level.”

It takes him a second. Unsurprisingly, he has the gall to get offended. “ _What_ did you say to me?!”

“We both know what you’re doing,” you say flatly, losing the gracious veneer. “Are you going to waste more of my time or can we stop pretending?”

He flounders for a moment, obviously too shocked by the turn to process. “I– I want to speak to–”

“His name is William and he’s at the front desk. Knock yourself out.” _Please_.

Asshole storms off and you sigh. It doesn’t seem fair that your ‘days without a complaint’ is about to get reset because of _that_ , but maybe you can argue it. William is a reasonable guy. If he wasn’t you’d have been fired your first week when you heard someone making fun of their friend for reading Laura Kinsale and you signed the jerk up for every romance newsletter you knew of.

Steve steps out from the next aisle over and walks down to you. “Ah,” you say. “I should have known that particular looming.”

He blushes. That shouldn’t be legal. “Sorry; I wanted to talk to you so I decided to wait.”

Oh. “Then…thanks for not stepping in.”

“You had it handled. In fact…” He cracks a smile. “You were surprisingly patient.”

“I have to be.” You shrug. “My job involves dealing with the public. _You_ know how it goes.”

“I do,” he says, smile growing. “Would you like to commiserate? Maybe over dinner?”

You try very hard to clamp down on your own smile. It peeks through anyway. Traitor. “Misery does love company.”

“Is it okay if I don’t think I’ll be miserable?” he asks.

“That’s fine, I can be miserable enough for the both of us,” you say. “You sure you want to go on a date with a dragon? You seem more like a princess kind of guy. White horse and all.”

He laughs and puts his hand to his chest. “Don’t let the suit of armor fool you. Besides, there’s more than one kind of princess.”

You shake your head. “I guess we’ll talk about it,” you say. “Over dinner.”

“Thursday?” he suggests.

“I get off work at six.”

“I’ll pick you up here then.”

“Cool.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

There’s an awkward moment where it feels like there’s something else– or should be something else. You know what _you_ want, but…

Fuck it. You crook your finger to bring him in and Steve obeys, until he’s close and bracing his hands on the arms of your chair. You move to the side of his face and place a very light kiss on his cheek. He lingers for a moment and then stands, radiating carefully muted joy with a small smile that looks ready to erupt.

He’s going to ruin your reputation as a hardass. That doesn’t bother you near as much as you think it should. “Thursday,” you say and swallow. “It’s a date.”

He grins, like a sunbeam through the cloud. Yep. Ruined. “I’ll let you get back to work then,” he says and steps back. “Try not to set anyone on fire?”

Your smile shows teeth. “No promises,” you say and turn your throne around. This hoard isn’t going to manage itself, and you can’t just wait around for your knight– you’re not that kind of princess.

**Author's Note:**

> ngl the alternate summary was: "Steve steals your heart by making you a dragonsona. You wish (desperately) that you could say it doesn’t work half as well as it does."


End file.
